Something Completely Different

So one of my Favorite People™ sent me an IM today complaining that my blog has become too depressing recently. "You used to be funny." (I'm not sure how, but she manages to make the written word sound reproachful. I'm feeling guilty for having written two downer blogspots in a row.) "Nobody wants to read about Child-Molesting Mall Santas."

In my defense, everybody wants to read about Child-Molesting Mall Santas. If they didn't, Jerry Springer wouldn't be nearly so popular. I see what you mean, though...there's a definite dark cast to the past few blog posts. Humor is usually just Anger with her makeup on, but lately it's like the old girl is getting a little sloppy with her application.

I wish I could be funny on command, girliepie, but I can only be funny when I'm in the MOOD to be. Lately, nothing has seemed all that entertaining. The last thing I want to do is complain about my situation – I made my own bed, now I have to lie in it, blah blah – but you all have to understand. It sucks out here. Period, end of story, thanks for playing. I'm thankful for all the things I DO have – internet in my room, a fridge, a TV, the entire Harry Potter oeuvre, diet coke, all the books I care to read (and that is saying something)…but as dressed up as this place is, it's still Baghdad. This is also why I've been avoiding the "Day in the Life" blogspot that several of you have been pestering me for…I don't really want to write about what it's like out here. It's very boring, very frustrating, extremely on-edge, and fraught with sexual tension and snide gossip. If you want to imagine what Iraq is like, head down to your local Middle School and spend a day observing the hormonal mental patients that pass for adolescents these days. That about approximates it. Petty, underhanded gossip, unrequited crushes, mandatory fun, false motivation, and extremely cranky superiors who are convinced of their own moral, physical and intellectual superiority and have absolutely no respect at all for you or your abilities. This is my world, boys and girls, welcome to it.

I read your away messages, blogs, emails, etc…and I am so jealous of you that if envy were acid all that'd be left of me is a couple of teeth and a belt buckle. Something as innocuous as reading about someone drinking a glass of Merlot can put me in a bad mood for the rest of the evening -- and I'm not that big a fan of red wine. So why have I turned into the Poster Child for Antidepressants lately? I despise getting my ass chewed by the hydroencephalic individuals appointed over me. I hate that there are cretins in charge of my career, who may blithely write whatever they please on my Officer Evaluation Report and that one little checkmark in the wrong column could condemn me to beaurocratic hell for the remaining 36 months I must spend in uniform. I abhor that my fellow officers are Brutuses who smile benignly while knifing you in the back. I am foul with resentment, and if I open the floodgates then you as my readers will be subjected to my litany of bitterness, my song of rage, which I assure you, with my tendency towards the dramatic, would be operatic in its scope. So I'm not going to talk about that. You wonder why I shy away from personal topics…well, that's why. Do you all really want to hear about the soldier who was killed in the PX bombing two days ago? Or the soldier who lost an arm when a rocket hit the trailers in the pad next to mine? Or that one of the soldiers had to get her uniform replaced because she helped a guy injured in an explosion and her pants were covered in blood? I didn't think so. Don't ask me again what it's like out here. I promise, you will not like the answer.

Funny though…I might be able to do funny. The man who runs the bazaar asked me to marry him. He said he'd give my father two goats for me. I assume that's not too shabby an asking price, the guy standing next to him looked kind of impressed. I told him my father lives in the suburbs and probably wouldn't have any use for goats. He paused for a minute, thinking, and said, "How about a car stereo?" You let me know, dad…I might even be worth a TV.

Andrea coined a new term yesterday as well. We were in the dining hall and we were talking about guys (duh). She pointed out a guy behind me who was pretty cute – probably not a heartstopper back in the states, but at least worth a second look. I said as much, and she replied, "Yes, that's what I meant. He's totally Baghdad-able." You're my hero, Andrea…you make me giggle even when I'd rather be punching things.